


The Haunting of (a random) Vegas House

by deltajackdalton



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Drug use mention, Gen, Halloween, Haunted Houses, Reader-Insert, Scooby Doo References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27248872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltajackdalton/pseuds/deltajackdalton
Summary: Greg and Reader investigate a haunted house on Halloween. There's a scare and then some fluff.
Relationships: Greg Sanders/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	The Haunting of (a random) Vegas House

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Underdefined67](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Underdefined67/gifts).



> I wrote this last year for Underdefined67! Happy Birthday and Happy Halloween!!
> 
> [Recreational drug use mention briefly] [I hand-waved over the case details, please don't judge me! Case building is hard lol]

Halloween was one of your favorite nights of the year, and going through haunted houses was one of your friends' Halloween activities. However, investigating a real human hand found in a real haunted house -not a spooky seasonal attraction- on Halloween was not your idea of a fun time. You knew when Grissom called you in early on your one night off that you were in for a long night. Luckily you hadn't changed into your costume yet.  
"This is short notice, but we're always spread thin on Halloween. This is Vegas after all." Grissom explained, almost offering an apology but not quite, not that you minded. He was a mentor, and besides, you were still logging extra hours to build experience. "But you're not working the case alone."  
"Who-" Your phone battery died then and dropped the call before you could find out who you were assisting; with just another block to the scene, you'd find out soon enough.  
The street address you were given was misleading; every house you passed was a newly-built, average, single-family home until you got to the end of the cul-de-sac, where the squad cars and one CSI SUV was parked. You parked and got out to stand in front of a derelict mansion from the sixties that looked like it was pulled straight out of a cartoon. All it needed was the vultures circling and lightning, and from the way the stars were fading out behind nighttime clouds, the lightning was coming. The mansion had a gray stucco exterior and all the windows and doors were boarded up, save for the front door that was wide open and looked to be off its hinges. You half expected Dracula to pop out and run everyone off.  
Tearing your eyes away from the house, you spotted Greg talking to Brass, who waved you over. "What the heck? We've got a house straight off of Scooby-Doo!"  
"And it's really haunted. All the gangsters used to hangout here. It was like their own crime lab… except they committed the crimes. I even heard it has connections to Capone." Greg winked, a little too excited with his gangster knowledge, and you shivered, suppressing a grin at Brass's eyeroll.  
"Talk about the history later. You're looking at a hand, and I'm looking at about a dozen sixteen years olds all with different stories of who found it and where it came from and what they were even doing in the house. The sooner you can find a print, the sooner I can book them on trespassing and go home and get over this god-forsaken holiday." Brass spoke in his gruff, no-nonsense tone and walked away towards a group of cowering teenagers in skimpy dollar-store costumes and told them to line up at the squad cars. Greg turned back at you and wiggled his eyebrows.  
"What?"  
"I know what they were doing in there. Ladies first?" You shot him a skeptical look and motioned him forward.  
"After you, senior field agent Sanders. So what were they doing in here exactly?" You stepped over the threshold a little closer to Greg's back than normal, but then again, you still weren't convinced Dracula didn't live here. It was Vegas after all.  
"Classic Halloween night technique. You find the scariest place in town, you take your crush out, they get a little scared. You protect them, emotions are high, you're the hero and get some action!"  
"You're speaking from experience?" You teased as you followed him up the stairs with just the flashlights to light the way.  
According to what information Grissom did give you on the ride over, the house had been cleared already with the main scene in the upstairs back master bedroom. An older neighbor had heard screams from inside and called the police, and when Brass arrived, he'd figured out that not only was there a hand on the bed, there was a guy with a chainsaw that had appeared out of nowhere and scared the teenagers out. At one in the morning, he couldn't take too many precautions and called in back-up and the CSIs.  
The stairs opened to a balcony that overlooked the back living area with a bridge that led into the bedroom where the scene was. Like with any of the other CSIs, Greg didn't turn on any lights and only used his flashlight as he examined the doorway and slowly pushed open the door. Purely for the aesthetic, you thought, examining a crime scene on Halloween night in the dark. Grissom would be proud.  
"Well, not necessarily experience, but more like careful thought and consideration. It works, doesn't it?" You didn't say anything, instead moving further into the room with your flashlight trained on the bed where a dark object sat in the center. It was certainly a hand, a man's hand judging by the size and shape, severed at the wrist with a large ring on the ring finger. On closer inspection, the ring appeared to have a crest of some sort carved into the face of it.  
"What is that crest?" Greg knelt down next to you and peered at the object.  
"Like one of the Franco families calling cards." He said immediately. "The Franco family was an infamous family of con artists that operated back in the sixties. Terrorized the casinos because they blackmailed and extorted all the richest business owners that maybe weren't doing anything illegal but they're practices definitely weren't kosher. That was a crest they left on all of their victims before they met their demise. But they died out in the eighties when the grandkids decided to get out of the family business." You nodded along to his history lesson, amazed that he could keep that much knowledge filed away.  
"So what? They're back now?" He shrugged, photographing the hand before turning it over to examine the palm. A silver reflection caught your eye from inside the closet and you followed it until you came up with a syringe. You picked it up and held it out towards Greg. "A make out spot huh?"  
He eyed it. "With a little extra flair?" You bagged the needle and placed it in your kit.  
"I'm going to see if I can find their stash. They probably dropped it when they got scared and ran out."  
"This isn't even a real hand. It's a silicone casting, movie grade. Probably a ring that somebody bought at a pawn shop and carved to look real. I think we've been duped. But I'll use the luminol just to be sure. We should be out of here in ten." He dropped the rubber hand into a bag and got out a bottle of luminol and the blacklight as you headed back out into the hall.  
The bridge led back to the balcony which led to another group of bedrooms on the opposite end of the house, each one connected to the other with a doorway. Trash littered the floor, leaves and snack wrappers and plaster that was chipping off the ceiling and walls with water damage, signs of past squatters, but you saw no other signs of drugs in the house. The first room was clean, but it was also situated on the front wall of the house with a clear view to the street. No one would hide in there without running the risk of getting caught. The second bedroom on the corner of the house had a direct view to the neighbor's that called the cops and was also free of any furniture.  
The third and final bedroom though was a treasure trove of evidence. Needles and cigarette butts scattered across the floor made for a maze that you had to carefully step around to reach the real prize, a brown paper bag crumpled up and discarded in front of the closet.  
Right as your fingers gripped the sack, a large thump sounded behind you from the closet. Every hair stood on end.  
"Greg?" It sounded again, like foot stomps. "Greg! This isn't funny. I'm not falling for the kissing thing!" You backed towards the bedroom door, eyes glued to the closet as it shook on its hinges from the inside. Your foot hung on the door jamb as the closet door burst open and a tall muscled man jumped out wielding a chainsaw.  
"What do you think you're doing in my house?!" A scream tore out of your throat and you scrambled backwards, hitting the wall as you heard the chainsaw crank and tear into the drywall as he swung it towards you.  
"Greg! Greg run!" You made the mistake that every victim in a slasher movie made, you ran not towards the front door -and only clear exit- but towards the master bedroom where Greg was. The chainsaw roared behind you louder, footsteps closer, chunks of wood landing in your hair from the impacts with the walls and railings.  
In your blind run, you collided with Greg, immediately fighting him as he grabbed your arms and pulled you back into the bedroom.  
"It's me! Stop!" He pulled you through the doorway and slammed the door shut, throwing a chair in front of it that wouldn't stop the chainsaw-wielder, but would at least slow him down. A high-pitched grinding sound echoed around the room as he started chipping away at the door.  
"Where the hell is Brass's backup? They were supposed to have cleared the scene!" Your heartbeat was hammering out of control, all you could hear was the chainsaw and your rational mind screaming at you that there was no way out. "The balcony! Go to the balcony, we can climb over the railing!" He pushed you towards the French doors that opened up onto a balcony that you hadn't even noticed on your first inspection.  
The balcony was two stories up with no feasible way to climb down without slipping and breaking a neck. And even if there were it wouldn't matter since he'd hacked through the door and slammed the chair out of the way.  
There was only the pool.  
"We've gotta jump!" You scrambled over the railing as he said it, both figuring out the final option at the same time, and without even waiting for a countdown you pushed off with as much force as you could muster. Quite a lot with all the adrenaline that pumped through your veins. You felt sparks on your back as the chainsaw chewed into the rusted metal railing of the balcony and stalled.  
You dove into the deep end feet first after what felt like an eternity but in reality was all of three seconds and popped up just as quickly for air, spitting water and hair out of your face. You looked up in time to see the man run back into the house, but you could hear Brass's men storming the front door too, drawn by the sound of screaming and sawing. You still had a grip on Greg's hand from the jump, but couldn't unclench your hand to let go.  
"You okay?"  
"I'm still breathing." You mumbled in a shaky breath. Your heart was still beating too fast. You both swam to the edge, and he helped you out, overcome by a fit of giggles in the process. "What's so funny?"  
"I wanted to make you wet, but this isn't what I had in mind."  
"Greg!" You playfully slapped him on the shoulder, but his commentary did help calm you down. He grinned widely.  
"So was I right? You got scared, high emotions, I'm the hero." He raised his eyebrows high enough that they disappeared behind his shaggy blond bangs. "Do I get any action?"  
"Take me to breakfast first." His eyes lit up, surprised. "I will."  
There was sounds and commotion all around; the police arrested the man that had snuck back into the house, the entire neighborhood was out trying to see what was going on, and Catherine and Nick showed up at some point to take over since your evidence was now contaminated. Somebody even got towels wrapped around your shoulders and led you to the back of an ambulance to get treated for shock and some scraps and bruises. But all you could see was Greg's brown eyes.  
They finished the case in your place. A fake hand based on some infamous area mobsters used to scare local teenagers that had been trespassing in the man's shelter, and when that hadn't worked, he'd turned to more drastic measures. Neither Greg nor you had any injuries, so you were released for the night, now early morning on November 1.  
Greg caught up to you as you walked back towards your vehicle, the cartoon haunted house no longer scary but empty and in need of some TLC. It'd be a good place for a history buff to restore.  
"Hey. I know this really good diner that's open early. They have like, the best cinnamon rolls in Las Vegas. The size of your face. If-if you wanted to go? With me right now?" The shy hopefulness in his voice made your heart leap in a good way. You leaned up and kissed his cheek. "I'd love to go to breakfast with my hero."


End file.
